Quotes About Romance

The romances between strangers are somewhere between inaccessible and incomprehensible to other people...

So, what's up with you and Damian?" Helena asks. "What do you mean?" I can feel the hear of a blush coloring on my cheeks. I can't ever seem to not show how I feel. It's becoming pretty annoying.

found myself remembering the strong breadth of his chest, the narrow span of his hips. And his lovemaking…

Daniel reaches out and grabs my hand to steady me. His skin is warm and soft, and holding his hand sends an electric sensation up my right arm. He holds my hand firmly until I regain my balance, which takes me a heartbeat longer than it should have. "Thanks for keeping me from falling," I say. He smiles warmly. "Sometimes we just can't stop ourselves from falling, cher.

Dance, cher?" he asks, his blue eyes playful. I nod and he pulls me gently into his arms. He's warm. We sway to the music and the gentle rocking of the boat. His hand rests on the small of my back, in that sweet spot that makes you feel feminine and protected and adored all at once.

Suddenly I'm no longer aware of the people around us, just the feel and the warmth and the scent of Daniel, and the way he's holding me near to him

He stops rocking and looks into my eyes. We're inches apart and I'm mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes. A girl could drown in those eyes. And it wouldn't be the worst way to go.

He gently takes the lead, and I trail behind him up the narrow spiral stairway at the back of the kitchen. His hand is warm, and holding it feels like the easiest thing in the world. Too easy. I'm going to get myself in trouble.

I rock in his arms under the stars and the blanket of night air, unwilling or unable to tear myself away.

There is nothing worse than a man who can't spell — it takes all the romance out of cards and love letters and things.

And, as any good honeymooners, should – particularly honeymooners who have known each other only a few months – they spent quite a lot of their time having sex.

Yes, I see, Mr Worsley. The love that shall not speak its name." "Well, yes, something like that. Something illicit, dangerous, yet also something beautiful, something... grand. A grand love, one that has brought both joy and heartache. Yes?

and charismatic stranger who sweeps

Mathilde. She was French. Quite pretty. We kissed

It hadn't mattered then. It hadn't mattered to either of them. Because they were in love. And ugly flats look pretty when you're in love.

I am running after you, and life, in desperate pursuit. My dream is that someday you will both turn and let me catch you. That dream carries me through every night... I have enclosed a hundred kisses in this letter. You must count them out carefully and not lose any.

This is how we court girls in America. We grab them and kiss them. And if they don't like it, we do it again, harder and longer, until they surrender. It saves us hours of witty repartee.

Ah, Evie," she heard him say softly, "I must have a heart, after all…because right now it aches like the devil." "Only your heart?" she asked ingenuously, making him laugh. He lowered her to the bed, his eyes sparkling wickedly. "Also a few other things," he conceded. "And as my wife, it's your duty to ease all my aches.

I have never said this to anyone before." Leo's voice was like ragged velvet. "But the idea of you with child is the most insanely arousing thing I've ever imagined. Your belly all swollen, your breasts heavy, the funny little way you would walk … I would worship you. I would take care of your every need. And everyone would know that I'd made you that way, that you belonged to me.

Good God. I don't believe St. Vincent and the word 'celibacy' have ever been mentioned in the same sentence before.

I didn't mean to send love letters, but that is what they became. On their way to you, my words turned into heartbeats on the page.

Christopher heard a pair of women gossiping nearby, whispering in disapproving undertones. "... Ramsey was found flirting in a corner with a woman. They had to drag him away from her." "Who was it?" "His own wife." "Oh, dear.

And Poppy, remember that someday you will meet a frog who will turn into a handsome prince." "Good," Beatrix said. "Because all she's met so far are princes who turn into frogs." "Mr. Bayning is not a frog," Poppy protested. "You're right," Beatrix said. "That was very unfair to frogs, who are lovely creatures.

Beatrix, do you know what happens to girls who ask such naughty questions?" "They're ravished in haylofts?" she inquired hopefully.